


Five More Minutes

by karcathy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcathy/pseuds/karcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and Kanaya sleep in on a Sunday morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five More Minutes

You always wake up early on a Sunday, although on Sundays, early means before eight – well after sunrise. Sunlight shines through the crack in your drapes you can never seem to close just right, scattering specks of light across your pillow and brightening the dark room just enough for you to watch Kanaya’s quiet, restful breathing. You lie there for a couple of minutes, listening to the soft sound of her sleeping, before sitting up and glancing over at your alarm clock. 8:03. Time for coffee.

 

Quietly, being careful not to disturb Kanaya, you slide out of bed and tiptoe through to the kitchen. The rush of water as you fill the kettle and the quiet bubbling as it boils and the clinking of spoons against mugs and the faint sounds of distant traffic are all you can hear as you make the coffee, the familiar, repetitive motions soothing in the quiet morning. You jump when the kettle flicks off, and smile to yourself.

 

You carry your coffees – black, no sugar for you and white for Kanaya – through to the bedroom, careful not to spill a drop, and put them on your respective bedside tables, then go over to the drapes. Glancing over at Kanaya, you pull them open, flooding the room with sunlight. She flinches, covering her eyes with one hand, and makes incoherent grumbling noises.

“I made coffee,” you say, smiling.

“Come back to bed,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and rolling over, “It’s Sunday.”

You pause a moment, then say “All right” and slide back in next to her. Propping your pillows against the headboard, you sit up and cradle your coffee in your hands, blowing the steam and waiting for it to cool down enough to drink. Muttering something – you don’t quite catch what – Kanaya rolls back over to face you and snuggles up against you, resting her head on your hip.

“Your coffee’s over there,” you say, threading the fingers of one hand through her hair.

“Mmm,” she says into your leg, “In a bit.”

You smile, taking a sip of your coffee, and settle into your pillows. Mornings are your favourite time of day. Mornings where you can lie in bed with Kanaya for hours are even better.

“Rose?” Kanaya asks, peering blearily up at you.

“Coffee’s over there,” you say, nodding at her bedside table.

She shuffles across to it, picks up the coffee, takes a sip and sighs contentedly. Carefully holding her mug aloft, she makes her way back across the bed and leans against you, her head resting on your shoulder, and you wrap your arm around her waist. She cups her coffee in both hands and takes another sip.

“What time is it?” Kanaya asks, and you glance over at the clock.

“Quarter past eight,” you say, and she nods.

You gently tap your fingers against her stomach, perhaps in time with some unheard melody, and sip your coffee in silence. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of the city waking up on a lazy Sunday morning. A far-off car alarm disturbs the still silence, and the sound of a loud argument, far too harsh for this quiet morning, drifts in through the half-open window. Sunlight warms your eyelids and you feel like you could stay like this forever. The only thing that could possibly tempt you to move is the prospect of more coffee, or perhaps a full bladder, but neither is of pressing urgency right now.

“Hmm,” Kanaya says, handing you her cup as you finish off the last drops of your coffee, “Breakfast now or later?”

You glance at the clock. 8:32.

“Later,” you say, resting your cheek against the top of her head.

She nods, twisting so she can wrap one arm around you, and closes her eyes. You smile and listen to the quiet sound of her breathing slowing down as she steadily drifts off. Somewhere outside your window, a lonely bird is singing, and someone is mowing their lawn. You wonder who does the gardening at half eight on a Sunday morning. You realise that would probably be you, if you had a garden, and if staying here with Kanaya weren’t so tempting.

 

Kanaya wakes up at 9:06, shifting and stretching then smiling up at you.

“Good morning,” she says, sitting up, and you smile.

“Breakfast?” you ask.

She hesitates, then lies back down against you.

“Five more minutes,” she says.

“Five more minutes,” you agree, wrapping your arm around her shoulder.

Five minutes turns into thirty before you can bring yourselves to get up, and you couldn’t be more content. Sunday mornings in bed with Kanaya are the happiest times of your life.  


End file.
